Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Finn
I can feel it the second I walk through the door after my morning jog.
Zane’s quieter than usual, which says a lot considering the man treats unnecessary words as taxable. There’s a calmness in him today. Not relaxed exactly, Zane doesn’t do relaxed, but settled. Everything that’s been wound tight finally got… handled.
Aurora’s at the counter, stirring oatmeal absentmindedly. Her cheeks are pink.
The air in the room is bordering on overwhelming, as if someone turned the humidity up and forgot to mention it.
I stop in the doorway and grin.
Oh.
Oh, this is going to be fun.
I toe off my sneakers and stroll into the kitchen, pretending I don’t smell tension and tea and something else entirely.
Something I knew was coming, really.
Thank fuck I don’t feel quite so jealous about it today.
“Morning,” I say lightly, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.
“Morning,” Aurora replies, without looking at me.
Zane gives me a nod that is aggressively neutral.
I lean against the counter and take a long sip, eyes flicking between them.
“So,” I say casually. “Did I miss a town hall meeting? Or are we just practicing synchronized silence today?”
Aurora stirs harder.
Zane moves to the sink. Washes a mug that is already clean.
Interesting.
“I went for a run,” I continue conversationally. “Cleared my head. Noticed the sunrise. Reflected on life. Came home to… whatever this is.”
Aurora finally looks at me. “What is what?”
I raise an eyebrow. “The vibe.”
Zane’s shoulders tighten a fraction.
Aurora narrows her eyes. “You cannot possibly detect vibes.”
“Heartbreaker,” I say, pressing a hand to my chest, “I once detected a man cheating at poker from across a smoky garage based on the way he blinked. I absolutely detect vibes.”
She tries not to smile.
Fails a little.
Zane mutters, “Drop it, Finn.”
Oh, absolutely not.
“Drop what?” I ask innocently. “I’m just observing that our resident brooding carpenter looks suspiciously well rested. And our favorite event planner looks like she swallowed a secret.”
Aurora’s blush deepens.
Zane shoots me a look that says one more word.
I hold up both hands. “Relax. I’m not interrogating. I’m celebrating.”
“No one is celebrating anything,” Aurora says quickly.
I tilt my head. “So something happened.”
Her mouth opens.
Closes.
Zane exhales through his nose.
Aurora drops into one of the table chairs, still clutching her spoon.
Bingo.
I push off the counter and slide into the chair across from her, folding my arms.
“Okay,” I say, lowering my voice slightly. “Are we pretending nothing happened, or are we pretending I don’t know something happened?”
Aurora drops her spoon into the bowl. “Finn.”
There it is. The tone.
Uncertain.
I soften a little.
“Hey,” I say, gentler now. “I’m not mad.”
Zane’s gaze flicks to me, measuring.
“I didn’t think you were,” Aurora says carefully.
“You should,” I reply with a small grin. “I’m very dramatic when betrayed.”
She rolls her eyes automatically. Good. Reflex intact.
“But,” I continue, leaning back in my chair, “I’m also not twelve. So. Spill.”
Silence stretches.
Zane finally pushes off the counter. “You don’t need details.”
I smirk. “Oh, I don’t need details. I’m not asking for a play-by-play, Romeo. I just need to know if we’re adjusting the emotional climate settings.”
Aurora covers her face with her hands for half a second.
“That’s not helpful,” she mumbles.
“That’s my brand.”
She drops her hands and looks at me. And this time there’s no blush, no deflection. Just honesty.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she says.
And just like that, the teasing drains out of me.
Because that’s not flustered.
That’s scared.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees.
“With us?” I ask gently.
“With… everything,” she whispers.
Zane goes still behind her.
I glance at him. He’s calm. Too calm. Which means he’s giving her space to answer without interference.
Good man.
“You don’t have to know,” I say. “Everyone knows I’ve done half my life without a blueprint.”
Aurora gives me a faint look. “That tracks.”
“Rude.”
A flicker of a smile.
Progress.
She sighs and stares at her hands. “I didn’t plan any of this. I came here to scatter ashes. And now I’m…” She gestures vaguely between the two of us. “This.”
“You’re human,” I say simply.
She huffs. “That’s not comforting.”
“It’s accurate.”
Zane steps closer but doesn’t touch her. He sets a fresh mug in front of her without comment. His version of reassurance.
I watch the way she glances up at him. The softness there. The confusion. The pull.
And yeah. I could still be jealous.
But what I feel instead is heavier.
Protective.
“You think you’re supposed to choose something right now,” I say.
Her eyes snap to mine.
“I—”
“You do,” I cut in gently. “You think you owe someone clarity.”
She swallows.
I glance at Zane again. He doesn’t argue.
Good.
“You don’t,” I continue. “You don’t owe us a roadmap. You don’t owe us certainty. You’re allowed to be confused.”
Her voice drops. “What if I hurt someone?”
Zane answers before I can. “We’re not glass.”
She looks at him, startled.
I nod. “He’s right. We’re grown men. We can handle complicated.”
She lets out a slow breath, shoulders sagging just slightly.
“Why are you being so… calm?” she asks me.
I grin faintly. “You were expecting a duel at dawn?”
“A little,” she admits.
“Tempting,” I say. “But not productive.”
Then I sober.
“Look,” I say quietly. “I know what it’s like to feel like you’re one wrong move away from screwing everything up. To feel needed and not be sure you deserve it.”
Her eyes soften.
“And I’m not saying this because I’m trying to be noble,” I add. “I’m saying it because I mean it.”
I lean forward, lowering my voice.
“Then let us take care of you while you figure it out.”
After a while, Aurora disappears upstairs with a tight smile and a muttered, “Emails,” which is code for I need five minutes to not have men analyzing my soul.
The door shuts.
Silence stretches.
Zane starts wiping down the counter that is already clean.
I watch him. “You going to sand it next, or we good?”
He doesn’t look at me. “Keeps my hands busy.”
“Uh huh.”
Ryder comes up from downstairs, shrugging off his jacket. One look at our faces and his expression shifts from neutral to assessing.
“She good?” he asks.
Direct. Always.
“Emotionally or situationally?” I reply.
“Situationally.”
Zane answers first. “For now.”
Ryder nods once. That’s all he needs for the moment. Thank goodness, because I’m not in the mood to unpack the fact that the air probably still smells of tension and bad decisions.
He pulls out a chair and sits, forearms braced on his knees. That posture means we’re not joking anymore.
But before he speaks, his gaze moves between Zane and me.
A sharpness flickers there.
“You two good?” he asks.
Casual tone. Not a casual question.
I shrug. “Define good.”
Zane tosses the rag onto the counter. “We’re fine.”
Ryder studies us for another beat too long, and then he shifts gears.
“What’s your read?” he asks me.
Not because I outrank anyone.
Because I notice things.
I lean back in my chair, stretching my legs out. “Cole’s not done. Just because we haven’t seen him again doesn’t mean he’s gone.”
Zane’s jaw tightens. “No.”
Ryder doesn’t react outwardly, but his fingers flex once against his thigh.
“We’ve had noise,” I continue. “Truck. Latch. Being watched without being touched.”
“Pressure,” Zane says.
“Yeah,” I agree. “He’s squeezing. Not striking.”
Ryder’s voice drops lower. “He wants a reaction.”
Of course he does.
Cole used to live for reactions. Used to walk into a room, daring someone to blink first.
I rub the back of my neck. “He’s pacing himself. That’s what I don’t like.”
Zane leans back against the counter, arms folding across his chest. “He was never patient.”
“He is when he thinks it’ll hurt more,” I say.
Ryder’s gaze shifts to me. “You think this is about pain.”
“I think this is about ego,” I correct. “Pain’s just the delivery method.”
“Marcus would’ve walked.”
Zane nods. “Marcus would’ve listened.”
Marcus had been the one who said the deal felt wrong. The one who wanted to back off when the other club started pushing for territory that wasn’t theirs.
Cole said backing off would make us look weak.
Marcus said escalating would get someone killed.
He was right.
Just not about who.
I can still see that warehouse in my head. The echo of boots. The metallic tang in the air. Cole with that look in his eyes. To him, insanity was clarity.
“He pushed that meet,” I say quietly. “You wanted to renegotiate. Cole wanted to make a statement.”
Ryder’s jaw hardens. “I told him to stand down.”
“He didn’t,” Zane says.
No emotion in it. Just a fact.
Cole took Marcus and two others anyway. Told them it was a show of strength. Told them Ryder would back it once it was done.
But it wasn’t done.
It turned into an ambush.
Marcus caught the worst of it.
And when we got there, Cole was still swinging.
“He couldn’t accept that we’d miscalculated,” I say. “So he doubled down.”
Ryder is controlled, but there’s iron under it. “He valued pride over lives.”
“And you didn’t,” Zane says.
That’s where the split really started.
Marcus’s funeral wasn’t loud.
And afterward, Ryder pulled contracts. Shut down the dirtiest suppliers. Told the club we were done answering disrespect with blood.
Cole called it weakness.
Called Ryder soft.
Said if we didn’t strike back twice as hard, we’d invite predators.
“You buying The Hollow?” I say. “That was the final insult.”
Ryder nods once. “Going legitimate wasn’t the betrayal. Refusing to keep him as my hammer was.”
Zane pushes off the counter. “You didn’t leave him behind. You gave him a choice.”
Ryder’s mouth tightens. “He chose wrong.”
That’s Ryder. Clean lines. Clear consequences.
I drum my fingers lightly on the table. “He thinks you owe him.”
“For what?” Ryder asks flatly.
“For years of being your shadow,” I reply. “For doing the things you didn’t want your fingerprints on.”
Ryder meets my eyes without flinching. “I never asked him to enjoy it.”
“No,” I say. “But he did.”
Zane nods once. “He built himself around violence. When you removed the violence, you removed him.”
“And now he’s reminding us he’s still here,” I add.
Ryder leans back, thinking.
“What does he do next?” he asks.
“He won’t hit direct,” Zane says. “Not first. He’ll test the perimeter. Probe for gaps.”
“Like he did before the Marcus deal,” I say. “Remember? Small pushes. Territory disputes. Seeing how fast we responded.”
Ryder nods slowly. “He maps reactions.”
“And he adjusts,” I add. “He wants to see if we’re still the same men.”
Zane’s quiet. “We’re not.”
“No,” Ryder agrees. “We’re not.”
That’s the whole point.
“He doesn’t want a war,” I say. “War risks exposure. Police attention. Other clubs smelling blood.”
“He wants pressure,” Zane says. “Isolation.”
Ryder’s eyes flick toward the ceiling.
Aurora.
“She’s leverage,” he says flatly.
“She is. Even if Cole doesn’t have all the answers, he has enough.”
“Explain.”
“He’s not sure how deep she runs,” I say. “He saw her. He knows she’s around us. But he doesn’t know what she is to us.”
Ryder’s gaze sharpens.
That earlier look again.
Me.
Zane.
“You sure about that?” he asks quietly.
The question isn’t just about Cole.
It’s about us.
Zane doesn’t answer.
I hold Ryder’s gaze.
“She’s not a weakness,” I say carefully.
“That’s not what I asked.”
There it is.
Leader mode.
“You think this fractures us?” I ask lightly.
“I think anything undefined can,” Ryder replies.
Zane steps forward slightly. “We’re not competing.”
It’s simple. Firm.
Ryder studies him.
“And you’re clear on that?” Ryder asks.
Zane doesn’t flinch. “Yeah.”
I add, because deflection is my coping mechanism, “If we were competing, you’d know.”
After a beat, Ryder nods once.
“Good,” he says. “Because Cole will look for cracks. He always does.”
And he’s right.
Cole exploited tension before. Used internal disagreements as leverage. Pushed members against each other until loyalty got blurry.
“He’ll try to bait you,” I tell Ryder. “Make it personal. Maybe through the club. Maybe through business.”
“He’ll test suppliers,” Zane says. “See who still answers to him.”
“He might try to provoke a public scene,” I add. “At the bar. Make us choose between restraint and reputation.”
Ryder stands slowly.
“If he steps into my bar,” he says evenly, “he steps into my rules.”
“He’ll want you angry,” I say. “He always liked you angry. Made you predictable.”
Ryder’s eyes go cold. “I’m not predictable anymore.”
“No,” I agree. “You’re disciplined. That’s worse for him.”
Silence falls again, but it’s sharper now.
“We don’t escalate,” Ryder says. “We tighten security. Rotate routes. Keep documentation clean. No retaliation unless he crosses a line that forces it.”
Zane nods once. “I’ll reinforce the back entrance. Cameras need a blind spot adjustment. Rear side’s still not covered clean.”
“I’ll vary my checks,” I say. “Different times. Different paths. See if I spot tails.”
Ryder’s gaze moves between us.
“Stay sharp,” he says. “He’s patient when he’s wounded.”
“And he’s wounded,” I reply. “We took his identity.”
“No,” Ryder corrects quietly. “He refused to change.”
That’s the difference.
We chose to walk away.
Cole didn’t.
Upstairs, a floorboard creaks.
We all look up instinctively.
Ryder frowns. “He won’t get to her. No matter what he tries.”